Lyrics of Mental Patients

By Boris Levin, a Talented Mental Patient

The English Rendition, by Anna Polibina-Polansky

The Crisis of the Genre ***

Oh the crisis of the themes,

Of the genres and of the matters.

We encounter it, scattered;

We are all forlorn, of schemes.

To be lonesome, it's a cross.

From beyond, it's meant for good ones.

But we feel, it's of no loss,

As we contemplate the rood scapes.

So the destiny decides

To put us to those locations.

We go all astray, no signs

Bless our poor destination.

Where the east and where the west

Are, we do foget, in sadness.

Willows cry, in days unblessed.

Hot blood runs in veins, at madness.

Transl. in 2012